


won't quit

by 24ko



Series: mcgenji au week 2018 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Night at the Museum Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24ko/pseuds/24ko
Summary: He feels the familiar tingle through his body, like electricity, like life. Genji has no trouble leaving behind his cardboard box compatriots.





	won't quit

**Author's Note:**

> for mcgenji au week - crossover. kinda more fusion-y though. no beta, and actually pretty raw since i got to work on this super late. but thank you for reading!

Young. Fast. Handsome. Restless.

And an out of the box thinker. Literally.

They all awoke with a start, never having thought outdated toys at the end of their lives would get to rise of their own volition. There had to be something more at play. And there was: he knew so, because he could feel the familiar tingle through his body, like electricity, like _life_. His cardboard box compatriots _mingled_  with one another and _struggled_  to climb out, but he had other plans. They never paid him mind as a green-haired bootleg, not even half the height of an average action figure. Genji had no trouble leaving them behind. With his short sword concealed at his back under a sleek blazer, he had sliced through the cardboard and emerged through the resultant slit.

He looked back over his shoulder, thumbed his nose, sneered. Like cutting through silk.

His first order of business is sweeping the room outside the box, and then the wing, and then the floor. There's not much to it. For all he can see in the dim light, it's crate upon crate of goods and old furniture. He knows there's nothing he should be afraid of, not here, but he doesn't know how much has changed in the time he's been away.

Genji is loitering by the elevator when it dings, and he flattens himself against the cement wall. A lone man performs a sweep of his own. _The night guardsman_ , he guesses. He stretches in wait for the man to return and leaps for his pants leg when he's near enough. Both his hands grip the cheap material of the man's slacks tight, and once Genji is sure his presence goes unnoticed, he climbs.

His body hums in anticipation when they reach the first floor of the museum. The glee he feels is short-lived when he realizes his fellow fakes are returning to their exhibits, posing and becoming still, glassy-eyed, awaiting a day of observation by children and whoever else gets discounts these days. When the night guardsman goes to retrieve his things from the information desk by the entrance, Genji swings off the back of his sleeve and lands with a quiet _thud_  onto a padded binder. When he turns, he is greeted by a dusty, crank-style pencil sharpener. It almost makes him nostalgic. Effortlessly, he scales the metal pen holder and hops in to rest for the day.

* * *

Night rolls around and he manages to descend the desk safely via the computer cables, thick and easy to grip. The lights are fluorescent now, bright and sterile, so Genji whips out his sunglasses and puts them on. A weak miniature in an ostentatious car catches his attention. They're made at the same scale, but he is bigger, bulkier and he lauds it over Genji, and he bristles when he mistakes Genji's indifference for disrespect. Their encounter is short - simply put, Genji has better things to do and more important miniatures with whom he wants to waste time. Long ago, he'd have been much less merciful, trying to live up to a purpose not meant for him. With ease and minimal auto damage - after all, auto insurance isn't available for this make and model - Genji relieves his acquaintance of his car.

"How'm I gonna get back to the diorama hall," the weak miniature laments. Genji can just barely hear him over the erratic pulse of electronic drums traveling through the first floor. There's something about this fake's drawl... the lazy way that words rise from his throat and tumble onto his tongue, out of his mouth.

"My friend," Genji answers, making a grand gesture to the miniature's body under his belt. His ugly belt, his ugly chaps, his ugly spurs. But not ugly enough. "You've got legs. Two of them, in fact."

Truly an ostentatious car. For him, his search becomes much less difficult and much more stylish.

* * *

Copernicus is the father of astronomy. He is also the father of getting Genji to the second floor the next evening.

Around them, the only two occupants, the elevator creaks and lurches at the weight of what makes up Copernicus. Fear washes over Genji at the thought of being trapped, at how much time he'd lose. The matter making up their bodies may not degrade for a long time, if ever, but animation like this is always finite. But when the elevator rises, though choppy, and _dings_  open, Genji hits the gas.

Fruitless. A fruitless fucking endeavor.

There's too much to explore even though there's less floor space on the second level. He should've known that the layout he'd grown used to wouldn't be like that forever. In his frustration, he fails to notice the exhibits putting themselves away. The sun rises and the cover of artificial greenery in the bird room is not enough to hide him from sight.

* * *

Jesse sucks in a mix of air and dirt and _twists_. For his efforts, he narrowly avoids death by horse trampling. Or he wouldn't really _die_ , but big or small, wax or flesh, being on the wrong side of a horse is something anyone who can think worth a god-damn knows to avoid. What a way to start his evening, huh.

They all hear the soft _click_  and scrape of the glass case opening to let them out. Jesse catches the tail end of a conversation: "Fine, Tiny, I'll find your damn car." Interest piqued, Jesse gets a running start and jumps. Once he's got a good grip on Gabriel's belt loop, he starts smacking one-handed at his gut for attention. He's not getting it, so the next best idea he's got is climbing the buttons on his shirt.

Underestimation has always been his enemy.

He underestimates Gabriel's pace, the bounce in his step, and the quality of his uniform jacket - especially as all three come together and whittle away at his endurance. When Gabriel finally notices him, Jesse feels himself lifted carefully. He gets seated on a stack of old papers in an open, dusty binder. Looks expensive - padded and all - too bad they never wipe it off.

"The hell do you think you're doing, kid?" It's a struggle 'cause of his height, but eventually Gabriel is eye level with him, kneeling at the front desk.

"Anyone ever tell you your zipper packs a stronger punch than you?" Jesse stretches out his arms, sore from hanging onto a loose button for dear life. He gets up soon after and so does Gabriel. Guess wax miniatures don't get concussed after all. "Y'know, Tiny's supposed to share that car. He ain't got dibs every day." No, but he knows it's first come, first serve - and Tiny's somehow the first to get up night after night. But Jesse hasn't seen Tiny around that often lately, so maybe he's hiding outside the hall so he can monopolize use of the car.

Jesse has been part of the Hall of Miniatures for a long time, now. Cowboys and trains have never failed the museum in earning the adoration of small children, so it stuck. They've repurposed him for a lot of Western expansion-related dioramas over the years, but he's tired of Manifest Destiny. It just don't seem right. But he wonders when, over the years, he got tired of exploring the rest of the museum. He studies Gabriel's crow's feet and remembers when it was less pronounced. He remembers, actually, when it wasn't there at all. When -

"Tiny's saying someone half his size picked him up, threw him out, took the car. Took his hat, too. You see anyone getting mean like that lately?" Gabriel looks up from his phone. He's got a bunch of ugly figurines lighting up the screen. _The Google images_ , Jesse guesses.

"Nah. Most of our men're in wagons or on horses. Don't care none about wheels as flashy as those." Jesse chooses to ignore Gabriel's derisive snort. He's been here a long ass time, but he's still never been on any horse. Besides - he prefers the Range Rover pulling the bone around for the dinos to chase. Even if it's remote-controlled, it makes him feel like a big man. "He say what the guy looked like? Not a lot of us can just up'n manhandle _Tiny_."

In all his time here, Gabriel doesn't think it's possible for anyone made of wax to get concussed. But Jesse starts acting funny when he describes Tiny's manhandler, especially after he mentions green hair, so Gabriel puts on his glasses, leans in close, and makes Jesse touch his own nose, then his finger.

Nose-to-finger. Finger-to-nose. Nose-to-finger. Jesse's so excited, he's glad Gabriel doesn't make him walk in a straight line, 'cause otherwise he might walk straight off the desk. The floor would be harder to avoid than the horse.

* * *

Genji next comes to in a cramped space, dark and musty. Limbs unbound, but he just barely fits. Vibration from an electronic hum makes him certain that someone stuffed him into the trunk of his car. No intent to dispose of him, otherwise they'd have done it already. He sighs, hopes the car is built as cheap as it looks, and presses his heel of his foot against where the tail light should be.

It's cheap after all. Incredibly cheap. The lights turn out to be decorative stickers. Gingerly, he pulls his foot through the hole he made in the cheap plastic. There isn't a point in waving a limb out the hole to get attention, not at his size, so he bides his time.

* * *

"Looks like Tiny's back," shouts a man as his horse stops. The other horses come to a stop, too. Even Jesse's, which he walks, instead of riding. Jesse squints and tries to get a good look at who's driving. It really is Tiny. There ain't no one else in that car that he can see. It purrs when Tiny comes close and idles.

"Y'got sunglasses now," Jesse interrupts. They don't suit his face at all. Too small. Too chic for someone with Tiny's taste.

For a minute, Tiny looks real sheepish - weird for a man as boisterous as he is. He was near hanging out the window, but he pulls his arm and head back in, his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. "Fellas," he says, finally. The non-acknowledgment to Jesse's observation only fuels his suspicions. No one else pays any mind.

Tiny takes off real fast, like he's got something to prove and like he's hiding something at the same time. The group of men accompanying Jesse call for his attention, tell him the horse's not gonna wait any more decades for him to learn. He don't hear a thing.

Jesse sees a hand sticking out the trunk, flapping about. The car goes over a wide fissure in the marble floor that jostles it. The hand retreats.

"C'mon, McCree, whatcha waitin' for?"

"I'm done waitin', boys," he calls over his shoulder. Like a man possessed, he hoists himself up onto his horse and somehow, miracle of miracles, gets her to move. As if sensing his urgency, she works up to a gallop. It is the worst feeling he has ever felt, but he's not too concerned about that right now. Jesse leans forward, his knuckles white as he grasps the reins. He seeks confidence deep inside him, reaches for the weapon holstered at his right, and aims. Shoots.

It's almost like the movies on Gabriel's tablet, Jesse thinks, but without as much carnage. Tiny's car swerves, but thankfully he's got some sense and brings the car to a stop. Jesse catches up and is all too eager to dismount.

Tiny confronts him, red in the face, but Jesse stands his ground. Points to the back of the car. "You're hidin' somethin', and I'm gonna find out what!" Jesse draws his gun again and Tiny splutters, then goads him, saying he wouldn't dare. Why waste the bullets? But his eyes, they're good, and he picks up on just how nervous Tiny is. He points at where the latch on the trunk should be.

"I really hope you don't shoot," Genji remarks, unamused. "This vehicle isn't made for that. And it's not covered by insurance."

"Aw, Christ," Tiny laments. A weak miniature, through and through.

* * *

In return for allowing him use of the car, Genji leaves Tiny with his short sword.

Genji sheathes it in one of the remaining tires. As it turns out, he prefers horses over cars.

* * *

There's a temporary exhibition in a hall not far from the one Jesse calls home - the one they both call home, now. The room is small, but its set up makes it seem infinite. Genji is in awe at all the colored lights. It's brighter than any mock-up or bastardization of Japanese streets he's seen.

"Our first date in _years_ ," he laughs, leaning back against Jesse, "and you choose to _blind_ me?"

They sit in pleasant silence: Genji; Jesse; the horse. Jesse let Genji take the reins, lying that he wanted an excuse to hold Genji. It's not _all_  a lie, though - he's glad for this, the contact. The intimacy. He never thought they'd see each other again. But Genji's here again, all three inches of him - laughing, hiding his smiling face all coy with Jesse's hat. It's brighter than any god-damn dot in this room. Jesse says as much out loud, then winks and whips out Genji's sunglasses, making a big show of putting them on, and Genji's laughter devolves into cackling.

* * *

Home on the range, they take a seat somewhere they'll escape mainstream notice. It's got a perfect view of the window opposite their diorama. Jesse squeezes Genji's hand tight, like Genji might be taken away somewhere again despite the protective glass case installed in his absence.

"Smile, Jesse," Genji says, unwavering. "It's sunrise."

**Author's Note:**

> is it still gen if you say fuck?  
> [tumblr](http://magnetholic.tumblr.com) if you wanna @ me :+)


End file.
